


Veritas

by Batdad (MizGoat)



Series: 19th Century AU [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Asexual Jonathan Sims, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, confession of feelings, quoiromantic jonathan sims
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22727944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizGoat/pseuds/Batdad
Summary: Jon wants to tell Martin how he feels, but that would be so much easier if he understood how he felt.orHow to ask for a qpr when that term doesn't exist yet.A sequel to Double Exposure but you don't have to read that one first.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: 19th Century AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634368
Comments: 14
Kudos: 147





	Veritas

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Kristune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristsune) for helping me name Jonah Magnus's estate.
> 
> For those not familiar, a ha-ha is a sort of pre electricity invisible fence. It's a trench with a wall built into the side of it. It lets you keep animals out of the park/garden without spoiling the view.

Jon let out a stream of curses as he looked down at his swollen ankle. He was drenched through his skin and the branches of the pine tree he’d sought shelter under weren’t as effective at keeping the water out as he had hoped. A harsh gust of wind made it clear that the storm was gaining in strength as well. 

He hadn’t dressed for it. Hadn’t even really considered the weather at all when he’d left the house. All he’d been thinking was that if he’d seen Captain Lucas grinning at Martin again like some cat who had caught a canary then he would likely have tried to bash some of the old man's teeth in. Perhaps, Jon thought a little giddily, he had summoned the storm with his black mood. Stranger things had happened around Millbank Abby. 

The indisputable fact was however that poor visibility and the mud had led to him nearly falling off the edge of the ha ha. He’d kept himself from falling into the wretched thing completely and likely breaking his neck in the process, but his ankle had bent in a direction it wasn’t meant to, and made a distressing crunch noise besides. So here he was, dirty, wet, and in too much pain to walk, shivering under a tree, all because he didn’t like Martin being asked to serve as Captain Lucas’s valet while he was a guest in the house, despite that being well within the duties of his job as first footman. 

So preoccupied was he with his self pity that he almost didn’t hear his name being called. 

“Mr. Sims?”

“Martin? Martin, I’m under here!”

And there he was looking for all the world like a somewhat damp angel of mercy bent over to peer at him under the pine boughs and holding an umbrella. 

“I was worried when you weren’t in the library and no one had seen you. You look a mess. Why are you hiding under a tree?” Martin was smiling but he seemed a bit out of breath and his eyebrows were furrowed.

“I had a fall, and my ankle has been making an impressive impersonation of a balloon ever since.” 

“Oh I see,” Martin followed Jon’s gaze down his leg to the offending joint and wrinkled his nose. “Can you walk at all?”

“No, I don’t think so. If you would be so kind as to go fetch some help.”

“Don’t be foolish. I’m not leaving you here to catch chill and die. I can carry you. We just need to slide you out from under the tree…”

It was a clumsy process, and more than once Jon had had to bite back an exclamation of pain in an attempt to prevent the effusion of apologies it would have elicited from Martin. But in the end he found himself fairly comfortably arranged on Martin’s back and torn between wanting to pull himself ever closer to the delicious warmth of his body and not wanting to accidentally strangle him because the only way to hold on was to wrap his arms around Martin’s neck. Instead he tried focusing on keeping them as dry as possible since he was now the one holding the umbrella. 

“You know, the foley is much closer than the house. Perhaps it would be better to try and shelter there until the storm blows over?” Job bit his lip as he finished. It was true of course, but it was also a shameless attempt at monopolizing a bit more of Martin’s time. 

“Alright,” Martin said after a pause. Jon hoped he wouldn’t feel the pounding of his heart. “We can get a fire going there, and warm you up. It’s like I’m carrying a sack of ice.”

It would be much simpler, Jon reflected as Martin made his way to the foley, if he knew exactly what he wanted from Martin. It would give this sudden outbreak of jealousy some semblance of purpose. He wasn’t the sort to take a lover, and yet the modest sort of friendship they had cultivated working together in the library was entirely inadequate. Too many times now Jon had found himself trying to delay Martin when he had simply come in to deliver a tray of tea. Being carried on Martin’s back was a delight, but breaking his ankle was hardly a sustainable method of achieving this sort of intimacy. Best then to enjoy it while it lasted. 

The foley was of the sort meant to look like a ruined Roman temple, complete with an artfully crumbling statue of Veritas naked and holding her mirror who’s gaze seemed to follow you no matter where you stood. Through the door of the temple however was a comfortably appointed sort of room that a hunting party might use to take luncheon if anyone at Millbank ever hunted complete with a handful of armchairs and a fireplace. Jon suspected that it’s real purpose was to serve as an overflow library. The walls had elegant built in shelves, and out here you could find all the respectable books a gentleman ought to own, Latin classics, volumes of history, even the odd volume of poetry. They had all been crowded out of the main house by esoteric tomes of ancient rituals, clay tablets in a language none of them could read, and box upon box full of letters. Out here these ordinary books could exist in a quiet sanctuary away from the unnerving and ever growing collection of Jonah Magnus. 

Martin carefully deposited him in one of the overstuffed armchairs and busied himself with getting a fire lit in the small fireplace. Jon watched as the water dropped from the cuff of his jacket onto the brocade of the chair. Not wanting to risk further damage to the upholstery he slid slowly down until he was on the floor. 

“What are you…” Martin turned to see him sitting with his legs stretched out awkwardly in front of him. “Really?”

“Didn’t want to drip on the silk,” Jon offered half-heartedly and shrugged, however the gesture was lost as a full body shiver overtook him. 

“You should probably get out of those wet things,” Martin told him straightening up from where he had been crouched by the fire. 

Jon could feel the color spreading over his face at the thought of what that entailed. 

“Or at least take off your shirt and jacket, so the chill doesn’t overtake your chest.” As the fire gained strength it gave enough light to show that Martin’s cheeks were also a little pink. “You can borrow my vest and jacket so you don’t have to feel too immodest about it.”

Without waiting for a response Martin bent down and set to the task of unbuttoning Jon’s jacket. For his own part Jon was too shocked to do much other than try and keep his jaw from falling open as Martin deftly peeled off the sodden layers of his clothes before replacing them with the formal vest and jacket of his livery. They were oversized on him and he had to shrug his shoulders up to keep the jacket from slipping off, but they were pleasantly warm. 

He watched as Martin, now dressed only in his shirtsleeves, hung his wet shirt over the rack for the fire tools to help it dry. He almost seemed to glow in the firelight. A deep bellied roar of thunder broke the silence, and was followed by the rattle of a burst of heavy rain against the window. 

“Are you considering it?” he blurted out.

“Am I considering what?” Martin had turned away to peruse the shelves, apparently looking for something to read. 

“Captain Lucas’s offer of employment.” Jon shivered a little as he drew a steadying breath. 

“Lord, no.” Martin laughed. “I don’t think he’s even particularly serious about offering. I think he just wants to nettle Bouchard. Part of whatever ongoing, well, whatever it is, that they have going with one another. He can’t get me out of his room fast enough when I go to dress him.” He looked back at Jon and shrugged. 

“You aren’t happy here.” Jon didn’t really want to admit to knowing that, but it didn’t make it less true.

“I wouldn’t be happier there.” Martin didn’t even turn around to address him this time. After a moment he pulled a slim volume from the shelves and brought it back to the fireplace where he joined Jon on the floor. For a long while they sat there together. The storm kept beating down on the windows and roof, the fire hissed as the damp wood released steam, and occasionally there was a soft fwip as Martin turned a page. 

Martin moved his lips silently as he read. It was a trait Jon knew he found irritating in others, yet somehow it was endearing in Martin. It was just the space he occupied in Jon’s life now. He needed to say something. He couldn’t keep on like this. 

“Martin, I wonder if I could ask a personal favor?” he asked and hoped his voice wasn’t shaking.

“Oh did you want something to read as well? I’m sorry I didn’t even think here let me…”

“No that’s not,” Jon cut him off. “Please stay seated. It’s not that.”

“I could read aloud if you want.” Martin held up the book so Jon could see the cover. Keats. He should have known. 

“I don’t… this isn’t about a book. I, I mean I was hoping, in more informal situations such as this, I’m not trying to get you in trouble with Bouchard, but if it’s just us I would very much appreciate it if you’d use my christian name.” Martin just blinked at him, so he pushed on. “I’ve been living at Millbank for nearly 3 years and I don’t think anyone has used my name in all that time. I’m neither meat nor fish, somewhere above staff and below family. I’m Mr. Magnus’s secretary, yet I can count on one hand the times I’ve seen him in the flesh rather than simply taken written instructions passed on by Bouchard. You’re the only one who bothers to talk to me. I’d like to think we’re…” he trailed off. 

“We’re what?” Martin had set down his book. 

“I don’t know,” Jon confessed. “Intimate enough for first names.” He frowned as he realized that he always used Martin’s name. 

“Jon,” Martin whispered so softly that Jon could barely hear him over the storm. Their eyes met and Jon wasn’t sure he knew how to breathe. 

“Lord your hands are shaking.” Martin shifted so that he was facing Jon and seized his hands between his own and began to rub them.

Jon managed to wrestle one of his hands free and grab the front of Martin's shirt.

“It isn't the cold,” he said and leaned in a little closer. Martin's eyebrows crept towards his hairline.

“Oh.” There was a slight pause and then he added tentatively “Jon?”

“Yes,” Jon replied, somehow more certain of the answer than the question itself.

“I…” Martin trailed off.

“I know.” Jon’s heart was throbbing harder than his ankle now, and he realized just how close they had gotten to one another. He could feel Martin’s breath on his cheek.

“Jon, are we? Is this? What are you asking for?” Martin’s eyes dipped and he glanced toward the fire.

“I’m not entirely sure what I want. I’m… difficult.”

“I know.” Martin smiled a little.

“You. I want to be closer to you.” Jon tightened his grip on Martin’s shirt.

“I want to kiss you.” 

Somehow the request caught him off guard though he felt immediately that it shouldn’t have given the intimate tack their conversation had taken. He also felt a pang of guilt at the hesitation the request stirred in him.

“Alright.” He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

Martin leaned in, paused a moment, cupped the back of Jon’s head with one hand, and kissed him.

It was… nice. Warm. Like Martin.

As Martin pulled back, Jon found himself leaning in after him. 

“I may never want more than this,” he blurted out, suddenly far too aware of being half dressed and alone with Martin in a secluded place. Martin tensed.

“More than that kiss specifically, or more than kissing in general?” The question was quiet and carefully neutral in tone.

“Er, the second one.” Jon felt his cheeks flush and he forced himself to finally let go of Martin’s shirt, his stiff fingers uncurling slowly.

“I’m ok with that.” Martin leaned in and kissed him again, but this time he didn’t limit himself to gently cradling Jon’s head with one hand. He wrapped both arms around him and pulled him into a firm embrace. Jon held him in return and this second kiss felt easier and more enjoyable than the first.

The wind howled outside and Jon felt oddly grateful to the storm and his ruined ankle for keeping them trapped in the little foley, because for the first time since he had come to Millbank, he felt like he was where he was supposed to be.


End file.
